


But it Refused.

by The_Birds_And_Bees



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Everyone lives/Nobody dies, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Selectively Mute Frisk (Undertale), introspection squared, queer platonic, relationship exploration, there's a lot of SOUL tomfoolery, with a dash of monster culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Birds_And_Bees/pseuds/The_Birds_And_Bees
Summary: Fourteen months and six days later, you finally come home.
Relationships: Chara & Frisk (Undertale)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	But it Refused.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngelDormais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelDormais/gifts).



> To my Angel. I have spent so many weeks now, attempting to write a story that conveys you. This isn't really that story- I fear that every word in me is only a poor substitute. 
> 
> But with all my being, I love you. Merry Christmas, my darling heart.

* * *

**In a world full of temporary things**

**You are a perpetual feeling.**

* * *

“Alright; tell me what you know about bullet-pattern birthday cards.”

Eleven months, six days. Every Friday, you leave school at lunch and travel to Gerson’s shop. Always the most knowledgeable monster when you’d walked through the Underground, Toriel’s suggestion that he be your tutor in monster culture had been given a resounding Thumbs Up. It was a good decision. 

You like Gerson. His goofy demeanor doesn’t stop him from being smart. He knows more stuff than you’d ever realized, and he wasn’t content with you knowing just the concept of a thing. If you sounded like you were reciting something from a book, he’d grill you on it until you know the cultural significance inside and out.

You refuse to let wistful thinking ruin your fun.

_ "Bullet-pattern birthday cards are for birthdays, but they can also be for lots of other occasions.”  _ You sign confidently. These lessons had taught you something else important; something you’d never really grasped from school. Public speaking is a thousand times better than explaining something under Gerson’s critical eyes.  _ “You don’t need an occasion to give them out. It’s considered important because it’s a way to show how much you care.” _

“And why do people consider it like that?” He asks shrewdly, eyes narrowed. He’s so hard to read- you can’t tell if he’s happy with what you’ve said, or if your entire afternoon was about to become a lecture.

Even if you’re a little anxious to please, either outcome works. Not knowing which it will be still gives you a thrill, after all this time.

_ “Because bullet-patterns are unique to each monster, presenting a card of your own is almost like presenting a little piece of yourself. Like you’re saying “I want to share myself with you”. It’s also considered a practice in vulnerability, because…”  _ You pause, fumbling over the words.  _ “You’re giving someone a permanent replica of your patterns, which can change how they respond to you in a FIGHT.” _

You have two shoeboxes full of cards under your bed. Every single one is precious- you’ve spent more money on laminating them than you’re proud of. You also don’t take them out very often. 

You’ve already memorized everyone’s patterns.

_ “Wait, I forgot- it’s also considered good practice to encourage young monsters to make cards for their family.”  _ You tack on hastily.  _ “Because it helps them learn self-control.” _

“Good, good….” He trails off, leaving you hanging with increasing anxiety about what you’ve missed. Should you have started with when monsters learned to make them, or run over the process? His face gives nothing away. Watching you for a few more moments, he cackles when you begin bouncing in your seat, pointing at the clock. “Alright, alright! Good enough! Keep hitting your books and you’ll be an expert in no time!”

You exhale in relief, setting off another round of laughter. The back room of the shop is so crammed full of items, it seems impossible for there to be an echo. You’re sure you hear one anyway.

“Don’t worry; you’re not an expert yet! Why, I bet you can’t tell me what comes next. What’s also considered important in a relationship between monsters?”

_ “FIGHTs.”  _ That answer comes instantly. You don’t need a textbook to tell you that.  _ “When a monster FIGHTs, they’re at their most vulnerable.” _

“Interesting choice of words there, cricket,” Gerson notes- you almost flinch, covering yourself with a shrug. “That’s one… and mostly right. What’s the other?”

The other? Your brow creases, mind running through every topic you’re even vaguely familiar with. Monster funerals, maybe? That’s pretty intimate; family and friends spreading your dust over your favorite thing. You’d have to know someone well to do that, right? You say as much, posture questioning- it’s not a surprise when Gerson says you’re wrong.

“Sure, they’re intimate- for your loved ones. But what do you care if Aunt Lorraine puts your dust on your favorite tee or a cup of tea? You’re dead!” He lets out another hearty laugh, giving you the chance to sip at your sea tea. Still not your favorite, but it’d be rude to turn it down. You hope there’s no dust in it. “We got something else- don’t be surprised if you start hearing about it in school, next year! Now, where’d I leave that book..?”

That he manages to shuffle about without knocking anything over is one of the greatest mysteries you’ve ever encountered. Being here is like clambering into a junkpile in Waterfall- if Toriel knew, you don’t think she’d be happy to have you spending your time there. Boxes line the walls, stacked up in a way that leaves them leaning precariously overhead. If you nudged one, you wouldn’t be surprised if it came toppling down.

And you’d be far more surprised if you survived the incident.

Books are treated in much the same way. Some of them are even wedged between the boxes- it’s one of these that Gerson seems to be looking for. With all the ease of someone who’s been living on the edge his entire life, he plucks it out and turns back to you, ignoring the ominous shuddering that goes on in his wake.

“Here we go. Now, this is interesting stuff! You ain’t seen this type of magic yet, nossir.” Thumbing through the pages, he slaps the book down on the table, tapping the chapter title. “Resonance is a big deal; the older you get, the more you’ll be dealing with it, I reckon’.”

_ “Resonance?” _ You don’t have to try to look interested; already, you’re leaning forward in your chair, trying to run through the chapter summary. Gerson claps the book shut in your face.

“Time for reading at home, cricket. We don’t have all day! Now, resonance, it’s not something monsters use till they’re a little older. You’re getting up in years, so you’ll be finding friends who’ve done it soon enough- maybe you’ll have a go!” You’re not sure you like the sound of it, eyeing him cautiously. If you were anyone else, you’d almost think he was-

_ “Is this a sex talk?” _

“Hoo hoo, the ignorance of youth!” He bellows, laughing himself into a coughing fit. You politely wait for him to settle, only a little disgruntled. “No! Stars above, no. Resonance ain’t about that- and when it is, your mom can talk you through it.”

_ “Can you tell me what it is, then?” _ And move on?

“So impatient- you won’t get far in the world, if you’re gonna keep getting embarrassed about these kinds of things.” You grimace, waving your hands at him. “Eh, alright. You’ll grow into it. Or you won’t. Talk to your mom about that too.”

_ “Resonance is what?” _ You repeat, insistent.

“It’s a bond- something between two people. You’ll see it used quite a bit- weddings are a big one. Baby showers are another. But you don’t need an occasion for Resonance.” He taps his claws across the surface of the book, looking… nostalgic, almost. “Ain’t restricted to any one relationship, see. Best friends, family, lovers- it’s special, for sure, but how many people you decide to have that bond with is up to you.”

You don’t...really get it. Trying to think of the definition of the word is something Chara would do, near immediately- your vocabulary isn’t as good. If you break it down, you at least understand what resonate means. That’s a start?

Maybe??

_ “What kind of bond?” _

“SOUL deep, of course! See, FIGHTs are well and good- if all you’re looking for is the physical traits of a monster. Resonance goes deeper. It's emotional contact, a little bit more than just shooting someone a greeting.” A statement you already know is literal. “SOULs have got their own tune to them; it’s what you think and feel. Your experiences. And when you have two monsters who mean the world to each other; friends, or relatives, or lovers, they’ll share that tune. Feel each other. S’what we call Resonating.”

Your hands have never moved so fast.

_ “What?”  _

* * *

You’ve learned how to watch Chara without looking like you’re watching.

Standing at their desk, they read aloud to the class as instructed; back straight, shoulders upright. Smile seemingly easy on their lips. If you didn’t know them better, you would be lulled into a false sense of security by their voice; gentle, yet concise. Invitingly engaging, they read scripted lines perfectly, as they’ve always done. The few times they deviate, it’s a correction to the text- a slight rearrangement of the words that genuinely keeps things easier to follow. You don’t know how they do that.

You do know they hate the attention. When they’re done, taking to their seat with a nod of thanks from the teacher, you watch their hands fold into their lap beneath the desk, knuckles sharp white. Asriel, picking up on their mood, nudges their foot gently. A breath, and they relax.

Two rows back, you swallow down a less positive aspect of yourself. You refuse to be jealous of this.

Eleven months, 19 days. It’s a beautiful day outside. During the summer, it almost always is. For most kids, being stuck in a classroom for the day isn’t a desirable goal, but you don’t mind it so much. After everything, settling back into school hadn’t been as hard as you thought. The unique differences between monsters and humans manage to make the classes more engaging, you think. You’re almost close to being an exemplary student.

Just- not today. There are too many other things on your mind.

When the bell rings, Asriel turns to you almost immediately, smile wide enough to dimple the fur on his cheeks. “Frisk! Eat with us today?”

You smile back, already declining.

_ “Sorry. I promised MK that I’d play Ball.”  _ Not so sorry; you’d asked them if they’d be organizing a game today, for precisely this discussion.  _ “And I have something on tomorrow. Sorry.” _

“Oh,” He deflates a little, but his expression and words remain as kind as ever. “That’s alright. Movie tonight? We’re staying with you and mom.”

_ “For sure.” _ You confirm, giving him a thumbs up. 

And throughout all of this, Chara sits at their desk, chin on their hand.

“Shall we discuss your restless leg syndrome?” They ask Asriel. He starts a little, laughing sheepishly, but he’s firm enough with his response. It’s nice to see how much he’s grown up. He doesn’t cower away at the possibility of Chara being angry at him, relaxing back into jokes and camaraderie- a relationship he’d been afraid was too broken to return, he’d confided to you once. Eleven months ago.

You think Chara’s happy about it, too.

“Gosh, I was just stretching out. These desks are a little small, you know.” His lies still have obvious tells; his fur ruffles a little, giving his every secret away. You know, and Chara knows, but neither of you calls him on it. It wasn’t so long ago that he didn’t dare talk back at all.

“Their size doesn’t mean you can’t stretch  _ vertically _ , brother dear.”

“Oh, come on-” You take the chance to leave while you can, slipping out of the classroom as quietly as you dare. You’re pretty sure neither of them notices.

That’s fine.

Tonight would be okay, at least. Mom would make something nice to welcome them, so you’d probably get some dessert before bed. And Asriel is about as familiar with movies as any monster; there’s so much he’s missed out on, you never struggle to find something that will keep his attention. Released a year ago, or fifty; he’s as amazed by the unfortunately plastic beginnings of CGI as he is by black and white movies from the fifties.

And Chara would be there, too. They might pass you a plate; maybe they’d even tell you goodnight, before joining Asriel in their bedroom. Theirs, not yours, because you live with Toriel every day of the week, whilst Chara and Asriel have insisted their time be spent equally between their parents.

It doesn’t always work out that way, but Toriel tries not to seem too upset when Chara decides to stay with Asgore for a few more days. At least now that you’re getting a little older, you can sleepover at friend’s places as often as you like. Then Chara can spend time with their mom, and you can stop feeling guilty for being the reason why they don’t want to come around.

You don’t go to play Ball. But you like to pretend you attempted.

* * *

There are a lot of reasons to Resonate with someone. The book covers that comprehensively, giving as many examples as there are relationships to have. There are even legal reasons to Resonate with someone, since the experience is considered valid evidence in monster court. The example provided for  _ that  _ relationship is pretty interesting; after months of gaining his client’s trust, Broodle Jnr. had been forced to change his client’s plea to guilty, having experienced his remorse over stealing from a restaurant kitchen firsthand.

The more platonic uses eat up your attention far more. No matter the meaning; be it a friend, or family, Resonance was a connection of two SOULs, if only for a few moments. Fragments of moments. The record for an unbroken connection was a mere five minutes eighteen, which, personally, didn’t seem like all that much.

People experienced things at that time that even the book struggled to define. The union of heart and mind; an unmitigated sharing of experiences. Some people even said they could hear each other’s thoughts. Some people, partaking in Resonance with a particular person over long periods, struggled to remember which person they were.

Even though Gerson told you to look through chapters 1 through 8, you end up reading the book cover to cover on the first night, excusing yourself from dinner the second you think you can get away with it. There’s a lot more to this book than he told you; Resonance  _ does  _ have some sexual connotations, but only when you mix it with other, more physical things. Things you’re not interested in, even if it’s easier to read than listen to. 

You now understand how monster babies are made, which is more than enough reason to make a vow to yourself. You refuse to show Toriel this book, ever. Those pages you flick through fast enough, absorbing just enough to make sure you don’t miss anything important.

Then it’s back to the chapters that matter. 

Disappointingly, it looks like Gerson was right about one thing. Resonance usually takes a long time to achieve. For someone of your age, it’s not abnormal for the connection to only be half-formed, lasting no more than a second. Less. 

You read the chapters covering baby showers very carefully, lingering over particular paragraphs and pieces of advice. It’s not impossible to Resonate with someone untrained; so long as a bond was already there. So long as you could achieve a similar state of mind.

Monster babies would tell their parents their names and gender at their baby shower. You linger over that piece of information for far too long, even if it’s useless to you now. The list of reasons why you wish you’d been born a monster is ever-expanding; you carefully tuck baby showers into the tiny box at the back of your head, dedicated to such topics.

You won’t think about this again.

Even more difficult is the lack of humans referenced in the book. It makes sense; monsters only published things when they learned to recycle paper from the junkyard; and by the time that had been established, the number of monsters with firsthand experience in humans could be counted on one hand… it’s still discouraging. 

You find one, hopeful statement. In the past, Resonance between humans and monsters wasn’t unheard of.

And that’s it. Four hundred and sixty-seven pages, you get one sentence that implies the possibility. It’s not the reference you’re looking for. A mere fragment of the hope you want.

Few of the relationships described fit with what you have in mind, too, though that’s… not surprising. A book isn’t going to lay out something for you that you don’t understand yourself, you think. Despite that logic, you struggle with a growing irritation at how many of the beautifully detailed pages don’t seem to be  _ enough _ . Each one is spoken of as special, and deep, but they aren’t- Enough.

They don’t match the kind of depth that you want them to, but some of them are close enough to hope. A fragment of what you wanted, but it’s a start. A foundation you can build on. You need a few more answers to be certain, but- you want to hope.

Eleven months, twenty days. You won’t lose hope. You refuse.

* * *

“Frisk?” Asriel asks, for the tenth time in five minutes. You wave your hand at him; more out of the sense that he’s starting to get annoyed with you, but you don’t look up from your book. It’s fine; you’re still listening.

It’s multi-tasking. You can do that.

And you’re book is interesting; Monsters and Modern Consumerism, by Alafar Byrns. Some aspects of modern culture took off well in monster society- others didn’t. He poses the reason stores like IKEA and Sears never took off in New Home was the lack of interest in having brand new things; second hand is a staple, to monsters. Long-standing traditions of furnishing one’s first home with second-hand items from family kept the need for new, larger furnishings low, with more interest in knick-knacks and unique items- things that were easier to find old, not new.

It’s interesting to read it when you live it. Op Shops and antique stores thrived in the middle of the city, while brand name human stores held very little prevalence. Humans did better with little mom and pop diners that advertised the human aspects of their menus like a delicacy than franchising- a fact that still had the world in a bit of a tizzy.

Two years was a pretty long time, for a business. You wonder if any of them have given up hope about lining their pockets with the undoubtedly tempting hoards of monster gold.

Books did well, the author noted. That was one dying aspect of human culture reviving under the monster’s enthusiastic care.

“Seriously, the bell’s gonna ring soon. Eat something?” Asriel wheedles. Sighing, you carefully bookmark your place, setting your book down to free up your hands.

Twelve months, two days. You’d thought that someone would have mentioned it; like an anniversary of an important event. No one did. You wonder if Asgore talked with them about it. You wonder if Toriel gave them a call.

You wonder if Sans will ever speak to you again.

_ “That’s okay. I’m not hungry.” _

“You've been saying that for the past two weeks…” He doesn’t look very satisfied when you give him what he wants, biting into your pb&j with exaggerated care. Maybe you are a little hungry- but it’s a sandwich. It doesn’t take that long to eat. Most of your teachers wouldn’t care about you finishing it in class if you were quiet about it.

_ “Maybe it’s a human thing.”  _ You suggest, if only to try and appease him. He’s better about most things, but he frets over you. You appreciate it. Sometimes, you even understand. You’ve thrown yourself into a lot since monsters returned to the surface.

You’ve buried yourself in work, these past twelve months.

Asriel isn’t content to leave it at that. “I thought humans needed to eat- gosh, constantly? Like monsters do?” 

_ “Humans start growing a lot when they turn thirteen; their bodies get weird.”  _ You shrug, taking another bite.  _ “I’m probably having a growth spurt.”  _

“What’s that?” Asriel asks; he still sounds dubious, but you’re saved from answering by the bell. Grinning, you shove the rest of the bread into your mouth, collecting up the rest of your things. 

Unintentionally, your eyes go to them.

Sitting on Asriel’s other side, Chara looks back; caught, for a moment, into locking eyes with you. It’s hard to break away from that, but… you have to. You force your eyes down to your bag, respecting their- reasons. 

Why would they want to stare at you? They’re only here because Asriel insisted on sitting with you. If things were different; if they… what would they have said to that? How much more difficult would it be? Could you manage to shrug anything off, if they challenged you?

They don’t say a word as they follow the two of you back to class (Asriel talks enough to almost cover that), but you feel their gaze more than once, that afternoon.

Maybe they’re angry that you lied to their brother.

* * *

In and out. Practicing is a lot like meditation; you have to learn to block out the rest of the world for this to work. The guidebook isn’t too helpful at giving pointers for someone practicing alone, but you can make a start. Eventually, you’ll have to consider who to Resonate with, for your very first try- but you’re ignoring that. Right now, you’re practicing.

You don’t need the practice.

FIGHTs come before Resonating. Monsters have to learn how to exhibit their soul physically before they can attempt to extend it out to someone else. Most of the guide is about helpful suggestions on how to do that- initiating a FIGHT, making conversation. A successful SPARE.

It’s all the stuff you’ve done before. Instinctively, some part of you knows how to initiate a FIGHT. You’ve done so plenty of times, against thin air. A whisper of the wind behind you reflexively raising the hair on the back of your neck, increasing the volume of blood pounding through your ears. You can FIGHT air, which is as good as FIGHTing yourself. More than one timeline was lost to that kind of mindset.

This isn’t one of those timelines, and you don’t need to FIGHT yourself. Carefully hinting at things you could already do in your sessions with Gerson, you’d managed to glean a little bit of advice. If the ability wasn’t an issue, the emotions behind it would be. You’re not practicing for the sake of doing; it’s the practice of doing something Right.

You have to take a break from it eventually. Now and again, you still need to breathe. 

Twelve months, ten days. Sitting in your room behind a closed door has a relief to it that few things do. You’re not great with wide-open spaces. It’s a lot to handle sometimes; the more open things are, the more people there are. More people means more obligations- more things people need you to be, even if their expectations aren’t intentional. Your room is mostly obligation free; homework is something you can choose not to do, and everything else is yours. 

Carpet is yours- still new, but a little less plush in the areas that see a lot of traffic. You like the colors, the creams and blues and purples, and the warm light of your lamp that gives the evening a relaxed, orange hue. You like being on the second floor, with a window that faces the mountain. When you’re busy with something else, you like sitting on the sill, feeling the air, listening to the sounds of the night chorusing around you.

Good ambiance. That’s what it was. You didn’t expect to have so much control over this space, but after you’d pushed through your hesitations and made some decisions for yourself, you don’t regret it. This room is yours, now. Just yours.

Little pieces and flavors that were your Partner are stowed away in the wardrobe.

You like it when you can look at the clock, and find that an hour has passed. It’s relaxing when the world stays so linear. The one, small dissonance was the lack of anyone to share this with- but with practice, you still can. You still can, even if it’s a long shot. 

So you have to relax now, and let it come. Things will fall into place if you let them. You refuse to believe otherwise.

“Frisk?” Asriel knocks quietly, poking his head around the door. He doesn’t enter until you wave him in, returning his beaming smile with your own, softer greeting. 

He barely fits on the windowsill with you, you note fondly. Asriel’s thirteen now, and so are you; you’ve grown up a little bit. Soon, you won’t fit together like this. You’ll finally have an excuse to crawl out your window and sit on the roof, and Asriel’s desire to be involved will win out over not wanting mom to find you there.

“You left so fast after dinner. Sorry if we- you know,” He says, tapping his fingers together.  “Excluded you, tonight. I guess games aren’t that fun when you can’t talk while playing them.”

_ “Don’t worry about it.”  _ You respond, waving his worries away. Sometimes you liked to watch them play Super Smash Brothers- they’d worked hard to earn the money for their console, a fact you only know through Asriel’s retellings of their funniest afternoons. 

He talks about starting their little afternoon gardening business like an adventure, but you can’t quite capture his stories in your mind. It’s just words, never pictures.  _ “You guys were having fun. I’m just a little tired.” _

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know.” He sounds so kind, like he hasn’t had to say this hundreds of times already. Always similarly. “I know you’re sad that Chara’s still- well. Struggling, with humans.”

He doesn’t seem so angry about it, anymore. The first dozen times he’d talked to you about this were a lot… louder. Toriel kept getting involved, which just made things worse. He got mad when she took your side, young and impulsive and just cruel enough to bring his dad into things.

Chara had only been involved the once. Once was enough.

_ “I get it. Just because I saved them doesn’t mean they have to be my friend.”  _ You bounce your heel against the wall, humming softly.  _ “They share their family with me. That’s nice of them.” _

“They grudgingly share, because mom already adopted you.” Asriel corrects dryly, sighing. “I’m sorry, I’m not really helping, am I? Just- golly, I thought they’d get a little better after being around you so much! And now it’s like they’ve decided the best way to deal with you is to ignore you.”

You know. You know, you know. There isn’t a thing in this world you know better, but you won’t say that to him.

_ “They don’t leave the room when I’m in it anymore. That’s an improvement.”  _

“Yeah, because  _ you  _ leave the room first. That’s not fair.” His lips pull downwards, words petulant. He’s this close to sulking, you can tell. “I want to spend time with both of you. Can’t we just hang out together for a few hours?”

_ “I’m sorry. I really am tired, though.”  _ You ignore the guilt squeezing at your chest. A lie is okay if you’re only telling it to protect someone. You’ve gotten pretty good at them.  _ “I’ll hang out more tomorrow night; it was fun watching you play. You’re good at Yoshi.” _

“Can we take turns tomorrow? You can play as Yoshi if you want; I’ll play someone else.” He sounds so hopeful that you can’t help but nod, smiling when his face lights up. “Great! And you know, I’ll tell Chara to stop being so stubborn. You’re family now; they should treat you like it.”

_ “Don’t, please.”  _ You don’t like being the reason for their private arguments. They’d only end up not talking for days, and then Asriel would be fixated on the idea that his best friend would never speak to him again. 

And Chara’s silence towards you gets more pointed. Angry.  _ “Chara’s okay. They just need time.” _

“Yeah, well… I hope they talk to you soon.” He joins you in gently kicking the wall. “It’d be nice to talk to them about… everything.”

Flowey. You nod quietly, giving his hand a gentle pat. How does one live, avoiding the elephant in the room? You’ve both gained a lot of experience.

At least you have each other.

“I’ll let you get to bed… Frisk?” You tilt your head that him as he ducks his face down, avoiding your curious look. “I’m really glad I’m up here with you. Thanks...for not giving up on me.”

_ Or them,  _ are the words unsaid, but you ignore them in favor of kissing his furry cheek. He almost falls out the window, spluttering out a goodnight as you waggle your brows and toss in a few flirtatious puns, just for good measure.

Your bedroom door muffles most of the noise in the house, but you still hear the creaking of the stairs when he heads down, a second pair of footsteps joining him on the journey up, just a few minutes later. Soft voices and the running of the bathroom tap announce the activities of your family as they get themselves ready for bed. 

Asriel and Chara retire to their shared room. Toriel would be up in a few minutes to bid you goodnight; she’d remind you to close the window before you went to bed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Reminding you, as she always does, that she loves you. 

Then she’d say goodnight to them, lingering a little longer with the children she’d lost for so long, who she doesn’t get to see as often as she should. Still a few hours left until she’d take to her bed; a few hours seemingly enough to get a monster of her age through the day.

You’re the last one awake that night. There’s too much to fix for you to sleep.

* * *

When the day to choose who you’ll Resonate with finally comes, the answer isn’t as difficult as you’d told yourself it would be. Inclined to push it all aside, there’s something you have to confront first, spelling it out in the mirror, making sure you watch. 

It’s time to acknowledge the truth. The person you want to Resonate with does not want to Resonate with you. You’re not forcing it on them. If- when that time comes, you want things to be perfect. And that means choosing someone else.

The last time you cried was well before you climbed Mount Ebott. Even if your eyes burn a little, you don’t cry. You look, finally, at the facts of the matter, and accept them for what they are. It’s okay. It hurts, but it’s okay. You’d known it, even if you didn’t want to consciously think about it. Acceptance is the easy part.

What comes next is as natural as breathing air. You come downstairs for breakfast, listening to Toriel humming one, specific tune, and you know who you want to Resonate with. It should have been obvious from the start, but you were avoiding it.

You just need to ask.

“Good morning, my child.” Toriel greets you cheerfully; you smile and wave, sliding into your seat. Almost instantly, the space before you is occupied by a large stack of pancakes. One thing at a time. Ask later.

First, you devour. You try to take it slow, but it's so good you can't help it... to her credit, Toriel only comments on your table manners once. 

_ “Do you have any plans for today?”  _ You ask, one hand still wrapped around your fork. She hums over her cup of tea, gazing out the window in idle thought.

“It is a good day for gardening, is it not? The lawns have been asking for some attention. That aside, I am free today, my child. Is there something you would like to do together?” She sounds so hopeful at the concept; a lilt to her tone that never fails to appear, whenever she thinks you want her. Just like you, she’s come to crave that time together.

To anyone else, it might come across as unintentional pressure. You understand.

_ “I wanted to try something with you. I don’t think it’s supposed to take long.”  _ You- hedge over the words, filled with an inexplicable sense of shyness. This was your mother; she wouldn’t reject you. If you told her, she’d understand.

“Sounds important,” Toriel notes, unsurprised by your answering nod. “Would you like to move to the lounge? You can explain this ‘something’ to me.”

Feeling all too awkward on your feet, you move to the couch, perching at the very end so your mom can join you. Dishes abandoned (something she hardly ever does; you wonder if she’ll want you to wait while she clears them) she sits next to you, gaze expectant but patient, willing to give you all the time in the world.

That makes you braver.

_ “Gerson’s been teaching me about Resonating,”  _ You start, hands faltering. Toriel’s expression doesn’t change, but she does lean back a bit- surprised? Or maybe a little mad. He did say you wouldn’t learn it in school till next year.  _ “I read about monster baby showers; moms and dads Resonate with their children. And you’re my mom. I already have a name, and I know what I am, but I want to Resonate with people, and family comes first.” _

Your duck your head down, afraid to look her in the eyes. If you haven’t read enough; if you’re being insulting, she’d be mad, and you’d be…

_ “Would you Resonate with me?” _

“Oh, my child,” Gentle fingers lift your chin; her eyes are shining with emotions that choke her voice, even if they don’t spill from her eyes. “Of  _ course  _ I will. There would be no greater honor.”

You smile, words escaping you entirely. Equally worldless, your mother pulls you into her arms.

The next hour is one of the most gentle moments in your memory. She questions your knowledge; listens to your attempts to practice with nothing short of pride on her face, and clarifies a few things your books couldn’t teach you. Yes, humans can Resonate. Those with a close bond to their SOUL could even initiate the proceedings. With time, it’s possible you could, as well. She praises all the hard work you’ve done on your own, and the smile on your face is going to stick there all day, you know it.

You ask, with a nonchalance you don’t feel, if humans can Resonate with other humans. She doesn’t question your facade, confirming with a kind sense of understanding that yes, it’s possible. 

That seed of hope in your chest blooms, painfully fragile. You put it aside for later. Easy enough, when you’re out of questions and the time comes to move on, listening carefully to her advice as she begins the proceedings. For today, she’ll initiate the contact. 

“Did your book tell you what is most helpful to think, when attempting this?” She holds out her paws, smiling gently as you rest your hands over them. Your fingers are shaking, a little; it’s nice to not have the means to give more than a small shake of your head, watching her every movement with building expectations. Excitement, impatience… nerves.

Your mother simply smiles, leaning forward to nuzzle at the top of your head.

“One common method is to try to think and feel about the same thing. I believe I shall think and feel how much I love you.”

You hiccup- with laughter or tears, you’re not sure, but you think of your mother and the life you’ve built together, after leaving the mountain. You think of warm mornings and quiet evenings, of schoolwork and butterscotch pies, collecting snails and fire that doesn’t burn.

You think about your mom, still pressing her lips to your head, and revel in the bright burst of love that soaks through your chest like honey.

Almost immediately, you feel the steady, wonderful pull of that love returned.

Twelve months, seventeen days.

Two seconds.

It’s only for two seconds. It’s not a terrifying swell of every part of you; nor do you feel any aches from her SOUL, the bits and pieces that left with other children who never came back. You feel- you. Every piece of love that your mother has chimes in almost unerring parallel with the affection you have for her, blending and chorusing into notes of warm kitchens, of tucking someone in at night. It’s a blip in the span of what makes both of you who you are, but it’s everything forever, for two seconds that feel like an infinity, that echo long after they end.

She cries when it’s over. Pulls you into her lap and lets her tears run down into your hair, but that’s fine. She cries, and holds you- and you hold her back. You know this will remain one of the most important moments of your life.

But it’s not perfect.

You cry too.

* * *

After that, there isn’t anything else to do but pour your everything into this.

Gerson runs out of books to show you; which is fine. His shop is full of oddities, sure, but it’s not a bookshop, and the library at school has a pretty impressive collection on monster culture that leaves you feeling a little silly when you finally decide to go through it. Kind of like you should have tried here sooner.

There are over a dozen books on Resonating, and most of them have multiple editions. There’s a lot of books that mention it in detail, too, even if it’s one subject covered between many others. Twelve months, twenty-five days; it was silly to wait to come here. 

You’re making up for that as quickly as you can.

The bell rings as you’re in the middle of a rather long-winded tome, breaking your concentration as you glance up at the nearest clock. Lunch is over; you should head back to class, but the only thing you’re motivated to do is feel annoyed that you’ve lost your place on the page. 

The text is tiny, the pages yellowed and holding that weird, musty smell that really old books like to- the loud bustling of students trying to get back to their classrooms is more than enough to push the dull ache behind your eyes to an uncomfortable throbbing, so you sit back for a minute.

Close your eyes, for a minute. Wait for the noise to subside. You should pack up now; if you pack all these books away properly, you strongly suspect you’re going to be late. 

When the noise dies off completely, you’re still in your chair. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you go back to your book. You refuse to give up now, not because of something that silly.

You only leave when the librarian shoos you out. It’s 8 pm. They have to go home.

You’re back first thing in the morning.

* * *

Twelve months, thirty days. Some of the books that cover more than just Resonating are so interesting, you forget to put them down.

Did you know that the seemingly empty space occupying your surroundings in a FIGHT was an extension of the Void? Not a true connection; a reflection. Hundreds and thousands of years of research, monsters were no closer to understanding why FIGHTs worked the way they do. Why they would bring the SOUL to such a space.

Theoretically, the most widely accepted proposal was that the SOUL attracted the Void to it when taking a physical form- the culmination of one’s existence, dancing on the verge of nothing at all. Why the Void could be attracted was a question with no answers-  _ how  _ the Void knew was a question that made you feel uncomfortable in your skin.

Did you know? Monsters talk about the Void like it’s a sentient thing. You do now.

None of your books ever explain why they do.

* * *

Did you know that it’s impossible to tell if a monster is born with a defect? 

Monsters don’t stick to a singular structure. They defy the laws of evolution humans cling to. The rapid variation between family members is almost as expected as parents bearing a striking resemblance to their offspring; there never seemed to be much rhyme or reason to it.

Some monsters had theorized that it was the parent’s experiences with their bodies that led to such change. A monster, so aware of their bodies' strengths and weaknesses, would imbue the desire for their child to forgo what they considered flaws. It doesn’t have much grounding to it, and it’s criticized for how lacking it is in scientific grounding, but you’re fascinated nonetheless.

You waste half an hour reading about it before you remember you should be reading something else. Guiltily, you put the book away.

Thirteen months, two days.

No more distractions.

* * *

“Hey, Frisk? You should come outside today. I’ve got sandwiches, and it’s so sunny out there! The pavement is really warm.”

_ “Not now, Asriel.” _

You don’t look up from what you’re reading, sitting cross-legged on your chair. In your periphery, you can see him standing there, the silence between you stretching for far too long before he speaks.

“...Oh. Um. Alright.” He sounds awkward, putting a paper bag down on the desk beside you, slowly edging away. “Well- remember to eat, okay? See you tonight!”

Is he staying over? You don’t remember mom saying anything about that, but you guess he is. Chara would be coming as well- so you wouldn’t have to feel bad if you decided to go straight to your room after dinner. He’d have plenty of company.

Thirteen months, seven days. You only realize why things got awkward after your empty stomach forces you to eat; he’d been expecting an excuse of some kind, and the lack of one made your words a little more blunt than usual.

You silently promise to apologize later, but sometime between your late lunch and excusing yourself from the dinner table, you forget.

* * *

Thirteen months, thirteen days. Did you know that-

No, stop that. Concentrate. Blinking owlishly, you shut the book in front of you, already in the process of picking up the next. It sits on the desk until a small pile has grown, too awkward for you to maneuver around.

You can’t let yourself get distracted like this. You’re losing more time; you refuse to keep doing that to yourself.

Nudging the pile out of the way, you once again read until the librarian kicks you out.

* * *

Thirteen months, sixteen days.

You forgot your biology test was yesterday.

Actually, you think you’ve forgotten about a few tests, the past few days. It’s not a realization you come to on your own.

You probably wouldn’t have realized at all, if your biology teacher hadn’t come to talk with you. You do your best to pay attention to him, but your eyes keep drifting back down to the open book in front of you- stuck on that sentence you’d been in the middle of. Maybe you could just read the rest of that line? Or that paragraph? Or-

At some point, Ms. Boilsley realizes you aren’t listening at all. What starts with concern ends in suspension and a call to your mom.

You can’t remember what the rest of that sentence was, but you do know you’re in a lot of trouble.

* * *

“Sit.” Toriel’s tone leaves no room for arguments, not that you would argue with her. You perch on the edge of the couch, watching her look over Ms. Broilsley’s letter once more with a bitter taste in your mouth. You’re usually pretty good at school; you’re almost an exemplary student.

There wasn’t anything you could do to avoid this conversation.

“My child… explain this to me, please. You have taken so much pride in your work. Not only your schooling but your ambassadorship. And though grades are not everything- this is not you.” She glances down at the paper one more time before resting it on the mantle, sighing. “Can you tell me why you’ve failed three of your midterms? Why you’ve missed so many classes? You have been so studious as of late… are you feeling unwell?”

_ “I feel fine.”  _ You sign stiffly. You don’t. You’re tired and cranky, and there’s always too many noises when you’re trying to get things done. You forgot breakfast this morning- you forgot lunch, too. Your stomach is so hungry, you think it might be eating itself. And now, you kind of feel like a bad person.

There’s no one you hate lying to more than Toriel. You have to lie to everyone; there are so many things you can’t tell them, even her. But adding to those lies feels like the most unbearable sin. You’ve never had to lie so much before.

“Are you sure?” As it is, she doesn’t believe you. Obligingly, you shift to the side so she can sit down beside you, expression- not disappointed, not exactly. Concerned. You’re worrying her. “It seems that you have been struggling for some time, Frisk. Your teachers tell me your attention in class has become non-existent; you are not handing in your homework. Gerson has given similar feedback on your performance.”

That makes you wince, looking down at your hands as a convenient excuse to avoid meeting her eyes. You spent every Friday afternoon with the elderly shopkeep, without fail.

He sent you home last week, not even an hour after you’d arrived.

“Come back when you’re ready to learn again.” He’d called after you.

You didn’t tell mom you weren’t going, this week. With permission already given to leave the school grounds, you just came home. And worked on things. Practice makes perfect.

“Asriel has also been worried.” Toriel continues gently. “Asgore tells me he’s been bringing extra food to school; all things he says are your favorites. He is also worried that you do not seem to want to speak with him anymore.”

_ “That’s not true!”  _ Shocked, you look up. You wish you hadn't  _ “He’s my friend. I like spending time with him. I love him.” _

“I am most assured of that, I promise you.” Her paw covers your hand, soft warmth that spans the entirety of your lap. “You would not have done what you did for him without that, or Chara.”

Chara. You’ve been avoiding thinking of their name, lately- because when you start, you don’t stop. It’s hard enough to concentrate without thinking about them, and what they think about you, and what they’ll think about this. You can’t lose sight of your goals by thinking of your goal. You refuse to.

You’re so close. Just a little more.

“There is something on your mind,” Toriel states, with nothing more than calm authority. “You have been increasingly distant, this past year. Are the events of… has it been difficult to cope with, my love? I know you have not asked to speak of it, but if it is still affecting you, I am always here. Do you feel that it would be better to speak with someone else?”

Do you want to see a therapist? The implication startles you, confusion warring with the reality you’ve been living. It’s not that; you’re not hurt. When you sleep, nothing haunts your dreams. The life you have with her is good- what happened was good. It was for the best.

That day was the best, worst day of your life. You don’t regret it, and it doesn’t scare you.

_ “I’m okay,”  _ You leave your hands raised, fingers curling as you think. She gives you the time you’re asking for, steady and patient. The best mom you’ve ever had.  _ “I’ve… been working on some things. To help me with something. I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” _

“Can you tell me about these things?” She asks, but she doesn’t look surprised when you shake your head, lips pursing for the briefest of moments. “Alright. I want you to know that I am- unhappy with this. I am not angry at you, nor am I disappointed; I only hope to support you in some way. Asriel wishes for the same. If you cannot tell me, can you assure me this will not harm you?”

That you can answer, with ease.

_ “It’s nothing like that, I promise.”  _ You reassure, imbuing every motion with your confidence.  _ “No one needs to get hurt this time. It’s just something I want to do for me.” _

She hums, accepting that.

“Then, for now, I would like to ask that you spare some thought for your studies and your friends. If you need time for this, we shall suspend your ambassador duties- you are a growing child, and space is something you were bound to require. Tomorrow, I would like for you to apologize to Gerson and Asriel, alright? You have been inattentive to their feelings.” She takes a pause of her own, tone turning dry. “You are also grounded.”

_ “That’s fair.”  _ You haven’t been leaving your room much, anyway.  _ “I love you, mom. I’m sorry.” _

“I love you too, my child. Please remember that I am here, should you ever wish to talk.”

You know she is- a SOUL deep knowledge that resonates with you, just a little. Exhaling, you scoot close, just to wrap your arms as far about her as possible. She doesn’t hesitate to return your affections.

Does it make you feel better that she loves you enough to bear with this, or worse?

* * *

Being grounded is a good excuse to not involve yourself with anyone. It’s also a nudge to start paying attention in school, which is a little harder, but you manage. You have a lot more breathing time at home, now that your ambassador duties have been put on hold. Guiltily, you’re enjoying the break.

Asriel takes longer to relax than mom did. He doesn’t stop bringing extra food to school, unsatisfied until you’ve finished everything in your lunchbox- and his. He fusses over sitting next to you, pulls you into conversations constantly; when he stays over at moms, you’re not allowed upstairs unless you’ve spent some time with him, first.

Chara is there too, like always. Ironically, that helps you slow down, too.

When you’re with them, you can’t ignore their name. Fourteen months, two days… even if you aren’t ready yet, you spend a lot of time reflecting on what’s happened. A lot of time, thinking things through.

The best...worst day of your life was the day you got to see them outside of a photograph. 

Like you, Chara’s small for their age- malnourished, the doctors had said, which isn’t something you want to think about. Ever. Their face had held the same faux appearance of puppy fat yours did, but they have a lot more angles to them than you do. 

Back then, you’d thought they looked gaunt, a ghost sitting in the middle of a hospital bed after having life breathed back into them. But they still looked like you; enough for everyone to ask where you’d been hiding your twin when you both started going to school. 

You’re not sure if you look alike, anymore. That hurts.

They spend a lot more time looking at you, these days. Gone are the moments of registering their gaze and looking up, only to find they’ve already looked away. Now, they meet your eyes steadily, assessing you with a neutral expression that gives you very little to go off. Are they mad? Did they think you were abandoning Asriel, too?

You don’t know, and you miss them. You miss them more and more every day; an aching gap in your mind and SOUL that doesn’t want to close up.

Somehow, you’d killed a friend and brought to life a stranger. Maybe fourteen months, two days was enough time to move past something like that, but maybe friend wasn’t a strong enough word.

Chara was what was left, sometimes looking but never speaking, not to you. They go out of their way to avoid you, to ensure you don’t feel included in their conversations, and you don’t know what you’ve done. You don’t know how getting out of your head changed things so badly. You don’t know why they never meet your eyes.

For the last year, you’ve been trying to content yourself with what you do have. Monsters are free. The Underground is empty. No one died. No one was left behind. You SAVED the people most important to you; and even if you weren’t as big a part of their lives as you wanted to be, they had lives to live, didn’t they?

A few months ago, you’d been close to convincing yourself you could be alright with that.

But you can’t let this go. There’s a chance now; an opportunity to grasp that connection, one last time. At worst, you’d finally have a glimpse at what Chara thinks of you. You want closure, or you want more. You want that steady presence in your mind. You want a relationship back that books fail to describe because they’re never Enough.

You want the other half of your SOUL back. 

* * *

Fourteen months and six days later, Chara’s sitting on your desk when you come home from school. 

They’ve still got their backpack on, but they look comfortable. Swinging their legs in the air, idly thumbing through the pages of a book. One you’ve been reading a lot lately, you note. Despite everything, the jolt in your stomach isn’t pleasant. 

You’re not sure you remember how to move. You don’t know if you’re allowed to breathe.

They take their time in physically acknowledging your presence, lifting their head to smile at you. It rests there, seemingly easy on their lips. If you didn’t know them better, you’d be lulled into a false sense of security.

“So this is what you’ve been losing yourself over.” Their fingers run across the pages in an almost loving fashion before the cover closes over. “Resonance? Haven’t they told you you’re a little  _ young,  _ to consider such acts?”

You’re rendered mute by frozen fingers, watching as they book the book aside. Your room is quiet, and yet, anything but calm. You feel like you’ve just walked into a building storm.

“Close the door,” Chara instructs. “Take a seat. We’re long overdue to talk.”

Their words spur you into motion eventually- they always have. Closing a door, ACTing appropriately, sitting on your bed, choosing to FIGHT. They’re all the same, but so achingly different. Sitting down, you watch them from across the room, mind empty of everything but the panicked buzz of your thoughts.

“I’m growing tired of this game you’re playing, Frisk. You’ve worried quite a few people. Mother, father, Asriel,” They tick each of them off on their fingers, smile still easy- and utterly rigid. “What for? An obsession with others crawling through your head? A fetish?”

They lean in, legs going still. Exhaling, you take your chance to look at them- all of them. It’s been too long since you’ve had the chance.

They’ve let their hair grow out a little, the past three months. It brushes across their shoulders now, falling about their face in a mix of smooth, straight arcs and tiny flicks that refuse to be tamed. It’s a lot tamer than your messy mop, something you’re sure they’re happy about- your hair was one of the few things you’d never agreed on- or… you thought it was.

Don’t think about it.

They’re growing into their body; it’s less gaunt and more gangly, petite features ruined by bony elbows and a chin that’s too pronounced, the hollow of their neck too sunken. You know the destructive patterns they’d sometimes exhibited through you- Asriel can’t keep them safe from everything. They’re here, but not willingly. Alive, but not healthy. 

Do they still sleep under the bed? Do they wake up every few hours, just to check the door is locked? Do they stash chocolate in odd places, reciting the locations to themself whenever they start to feel like the walls are closing in? You want to know like you always used to know. 

The desire to ask is bearable. The desire to see for yourself is not.

“It seems you need me to make this clear to you, so allow me to be as succinct as possible,” Chara tells you. “I will not- will never- Resonate with you. You are living in a fairytale. We are not siblings. We are not friends. Cease wasting your life in delusions, Frisk. Move on.”

You shake your head. Your eyes burn, almost as much as your chest does, but- you refuse. What good is Determination, if you don’t use it? What’s Determination, if not making the impossible possible?

Fourteen months, six days. You can SAVE the world. You can SAVE this, too. Move on? 

You refuse.

“No?” They ask softly. “You won’t?”

They’ve changed- that doesn’t make them tall enough to touch the ground from where they’re sitting. They still make jumping off the table look elegant, crossing the room and closing the space between you a little too quickly. They come to a halt, just outside of reach. It’s almost perfect.

That’s what makes it torture. You look up, into their eyes- seeing them, larger than life and better than a photo, but that’s all. You can see their eyes, but not past them. You see the emotions they want to put on their face, but nothing more. Chara is a closed book on your desk, full of contents you could pour yourself into over and over again, but you can’t open the cover.

How are they okay with that?

“You don’t have a choice in this.” They tell you. Their smile drops. Thunder, rumbling through your system. “I don’t accept. I know that it isn’t your strong suit but  _ think  _ rationally. It’s over. It’s  _ been over  _ for thirteen months. Accept it!”

_ “Fourteen.”  _ You correct. You trip over the words, fingers numb.

“Excuse me?”

_ “Fourteen months, six days.”  _ You repeat. The look on their face when you say it.

It makes you braver.

_ “But you already knew that. You’re counting too.”  _ They back away when you stand, and there’s something thrilling, about that. Letting them have control- you like to do it, because it’s comfort. They need it more than you do.

You need it more now.

_ “Doesn’t it hurt? Do you feel empty? Because I do. I can’t stop feeling like that; I’ve tried. And maybe we can change it- we have a chance to change it. Why wouldn’t I want that? I want that more than anything in the whole world. Why don’t you?  _

_ “What did I do?”  _ You question, disposition verging on desperation when they just don’t answer. They just keep staring at you like you’ve grown a second head, looking more and more akin to a cornered animal than a person.  _ “If I hurt you, I’m sorry. If I can’t fix it, that’s okay. I just want to know. Just tell me- talk to me, anything. Please don’t close me out. I miss you.” _

They’re still not answering. You exhale, breath strangely shaky as you part your lips, voice rusted over with disuse.

“I miss you, Chara.” It falls on them like a physical blow, entire body recoiling.

“Shut up.” Their eyes are wild; the manic smile on their face could be many things, but you know them. You know what fear looks like. “Shut up. You don’t know  **anything.** ”

“Tell me, then.”

“What part of  **no** has become so difficult to understand?! I do not wish to Resonate with you- that’s it! End of story.” Their hand sweeps out in front of them to emphasize the words.

You catch it. Watching them freeze up as their fingers stiffen, reflexively curling into your own. You give them some silence to adjust to it, keep your breathing even and your face calm when everything else about you is anything but. You want to give them all the time in the world for this; you would, but you’re already done with silence. You’ve been living with it far too long.

“Are you thinking about me?”

“Frisk,” Chara starts, the initial warning tone losing strength entirely by the end of the word. “You don’t want this. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Too late. 

For someone of your age, it’s not abnormal for the connection to only be half-formed, lasting no more than a second. Less. 

That’s all it is. Less than a second. For one bright, beautiful fragment of time, your SOUL collides with another, singing out every thought and feeling and experience you’ve attempted to handle alone. In that desperate, whirling cloud that composes the very culmination of your being, the tune ringing loudest is the aching fear of being alone; that you don’t have the strength to keep something so precious.

Chara is scared of other things.

In that briefest hint of a second, you know. You know what it is that brought them here this afternoon, spitting words to hold you at bay- just as well as you know what makes them stumble back into you like someone starved. You’re not gentle. Chara isn’t either. You dig your nails into their hand and they grab at your chest, and the ringing echoes return; loud, desperate, greedy. 

Less than a second isn’t nearly good enough for either of you. The second time you Resonate, Chara meets you halfway. The second time you Resonate, you don’t stop.

Fourteen months, six days.

You finally come Home.

Home isn’t sunshine and roses. It’s tangled barbs on angry vines that sink into your skin and snare the two of you together. There’s the failure of twin restraints to respect each other’s intentions; you’d wanted them to have the space they deserve. You wanted to show how much you loved them, by respecting their decision.

They wanted to get you out of their head. It’s too dark a place, for someone like you. You’ve spent too much time there already. What could it do for you, but twist and break you into something less than you are now? Distance hurts- it’s the lesser demon.

You disagree.

You’ve gotten good at looking without seeming like you are. Chara has too. All the moments in these past fourteen months span across only the briefest of gaps with one pair of eyes stuck on the other; desiring, but restraining. Afraid to take when it could break something. Afraid to ask if you aren’t wanted. The lack of another person eats at the two of you from the inside out.

Chara fills every gaping void in your head. You return the favor. I t’s nothing like the books had described to you, but you already knew that.

To some distant degree, you’re aware of what’s outside of you. Your bedspread pressed against your back, Chara sprawled over your front. Their hand never relaxes its position over your heart, and they bury their face in your shoulder, curling over you. It’s as if they think, somehow, pushing into all the little spaces of your body, they can find the crack that will let them crawl into your mind again, somewhere complete and utterly tame in comparison to being alone.

You think that, if such a crack existed, they might do just that.

The edges of you keeping blurring. You can’t tell where you start. You don’t know where they end. A year alone is a lot to convey, it turns out. There’s a lot of hurt there. The messy tangle of your differing motivations is something that needs to be combed through, so you can remember where you begin and they end. At some point, you both gather enough of yourselves to work on that.

The continuous, steady reflection of twin relief helps.

“We’re a mess,” Chara mutters into your shirt. You can only agree, closing your eyes in an attempt to cut down on how much you have to take in. You don’t have to speak for them to hear your answer. That fact alone brings so much peace that finally, you feel like you can breathe.

Everything’s alright now. You’re whole again.

Not normal, but whole. When you’d separated from them, you hadn’t known what to expect- that residual sense of loss had all but encompassed your life. Now you understand how it consumed Chara. You don’t need to ask to see their ongoing conflicts. Their disgust at needing someone so badly, their undying convictions of what it means to be connected to their mind.

Pushing away something so you don’t ruin it isn’t something you can agree with, ever, but you understand. Their every motivation is on full display for you, singed at the edges by a history of being something unpalatable. The best worst day of their life, deciding that it was time to let you go. Let Frisk have their future. Let Frisk be happy.

Silly. They should’ve remembered.

It reFused.

**Author's Note:**

> The concept for resonance in this fic is an extremely bastardized version of what’s done in Soul Eater. Have I ever watched Soul Eater? N o p e. And that’s probably 99% of the reason it’s so bastardized. Sorry to anyone who knows that canon.


End file.
